#quail eggs are good

[junhoontrash]

skewers

[meii-jasmine]

We stan Filipino Miku! 🇵🇭

She has her own Mikutoda tricycle, eating kwek kwek before the rush hour

[kedreeva]

I have finally gotten to the point where I feel comfortable selling nice hatching eggs from my Celadons. The eggs have got nice color, they're a good size, the birds are getting bigger and are hatching in good health. I'm seeing minor aggression once in a while, but I've been proactive in quickly removing those birds from existence, and it's worlds better than it was at the start, where I couldn't house males together at all.

These are the second group of eggs that have gone for $15/doz, and the last hatching eggs of this year I think. If the birds from fall hatch lay this nice or nicer, I'll be asking $20/doz in the spring, and I honestly think they'll be worth it!

[kingcriccket]

I'll never forget working at a doggy daycare & having to prep the raw foods to the owner's stupidly specific specs. Making minimum wage cracking fresh quail eggs into a french bulldog's bowl of human-grade raw beef.

[necromancy-savant]

I just had hot pot for the first time and I think I ate so much my body might be shutting down

[inkmaze]

made some mayak(marinated) eggs ages back and loved em. finally recently tried it again w quail eggs since I found some at an asian supermarket and ough. kind of obsessed. so bite sized. good meal prep. tasty as hell obviously. annoying to peel a million tiny eggs but thats basically the only downside imo. oughh

[cocolacola]

me posting only fandom stuff and reblogs for one day: my poor fans. they dont even know my lore

[stinkrascal]

the videos on tiktok where people feed their cats those fancy wet foods with the quail eggs and the probiotics and the pumpkin powder and the little dried fish and the bone broth and the dried blood powders are so addicting. like dude why does this cat eat better than i do

[helenofblackthorns]

Sophie getting dressed up and leaving the Institute to meet with Gideon only to tell him she can't see him 😭 Sophie you're breaking his heart he has a picnic basket and everything

[bcbparty]

this is zelf

this is so real and never leaves me

[nethermite]

he wants quails😭😭

[sparrowlucero]

would life as a larrow suck? like if you could choose to be isekai'd as a larrow rn would you take it up? what about the other way around, would a larrow want to be us

It doesn't really suck anymore than life as a human does, but a lot of humans would see it as bad or stressful in certain ways:

Larrow imago usually only live about 30 years, and it's not super abnormal for them to die before 20. They're also very tiny (like on average the size of a button quail or a smallish parrot) so compared to humans they seem pretty fragile.

Their society doesn't consistently exist; eggs are produced, hatched and grow up at roughly the same time, and all the larrow of a single generation usually die off entirely before new ones emerge from the ocean (with an occasional outlier). That next generation isn't exactly the same culture as before, just formed through similar needs and off of the technology left behind by the last. their whole 'rome falls every few decades' set up would probably be very offputting to most alien cultures

They have next to no health care; larrow learn medical care by themselves, for themselves, and they practice surgery and similarly extreme procedures on themselves quite regularly.

Larrow are basically fine not socializing and will sometimes go years without talking to one another; it's to a degree where even anti social humans may be stressed and lonely. They also don't really show a ton of concern for other people and animals, empathy is more of a philosophical idea than this totally innate thing.

The world they live has very extreme storms; their average low winds would be difficult for a human to walk around in. They don't have houses but public access "storm shelters" which, from a human perspective, look woefully incompetent as they're full of holes and look more like animal nests than a "real" building

On the other hand:

Larrow are adapted to live in an environment with constantly moving air and are instinctively adverse to areas with stagnant air, as they struggle to breathe in it and it can make them really sick. Human buildings seem really gross to them in the same way rot or mold does to us

The way humans are constantly trailing each other and actively trying to initiate touching and interaction all the time feels both animal-like and weird/scammy/aggressive to them, our social behavior is their "about to get mugged" behavior

complex nest building in constant storms was like their main evolutionary pressure to Get Good with the brain power, so they're very technologically minded in a way humans just aren't. They could open up a human car or computer (or indeed a body) for the first time and understand how it worked back to front. This is all just architecture to their lizard brains. Which means humans needing to go to school to study this stuff sounds like, really stupid to a larrow.

the whole idea that humans will bribe other humans to knock them out and operate on them sounds like a horror show. What if the doctors got bored and left? What if it turned out they wanted to hurt you while you were asleep? If letting other people chop you up is a normal cultural quirk why do they keep making scary movies about it

the way humans have all these complex daily networks of giving things up and gaining them is confusing and stressful. they're kind of like that boar in this tumblr post

This is all to say many humans would see larrow as living short lonely survivalist lives in ramshackle houses in a dying culture too selfish to care about each other, where many larrow would see humans as spending most of their lives in gross little prisons being so incompetent at everything that they'll die of minor ailments like "tumors" and "internal bleeding" if other humans don't randomly take pity on them.

Not to say some people wouldn't be interested or jealous about aspects of each other's lives... "what if you could just fly alone for weeks at a time and work on the first draft of your novel" would obviously be appealing to a lot of humans, and getting to root through a world of completely alien tech and biology would make a larrow feel like it was one of these caddisflies

[vigilskeep]

various and sundry artbook tidbits i found interesting (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE VEILGUARD ARTBOOK. obviously)

faction & location stuff:

a sketch page from the very early days exploring shape languages for factions like elves, dwarves, wardens, the necropolis, tevinter, and rivain, also includes concepts for the mages’ college and the ben-hassrath

early rivain concept arts have npcs with a similar armour patterning to duncan’s, suggesting it’s a mark of his rivaini heritage like i always thought!

the depiction of the ““creation story”” suggests elves were mimicking the bodies of dwarves when they formed their own, not humans like i think mythal says in game flashbacks, which would make more sense timeline wise

there’s concept art of the city of ventus, which i believe is of particular relevance to mercar players? it’s right on the border of arlathan forest, and surrounded by magical statues holding out raised hands forming a ward along the tree line to keep it from encroaching

the home base was going to be a lovable fixer-upper of a ship given to us by isabela, named the dumat. this didn’t fit the spy theme they were originally going for, so they tried really really hard to make it a submarine without feeling anachronistic by making it sort of sea monster shaped. there are a lot of cutaways and schematics. they were going to give it a mystery engine that you would get light fetch quests to feed random objects: “ten dried lavender flowers, five quail’s eggs, three brass belt buckles, etc.....” the submarine then turned into an undersea mansion on the back of some giant shambling sea creature you would never get a good look at

later on there were some funny takes on the lighthouse specifically, like bringing back the sea creature theme to put it on the back of an interdimensional veil whale, or having it be the true location of the black emporium with a collection of eluvians that xenon the antiquarian lets you use

there’s a tiny concept art for a “high-speed aravel chase” in a canyon like a western

tevinter gladiators are mentioned a couple times. we WEREEE going to get to see the minrathous proving grounds :( there’s also a dwarven embassy concept art somebody take me out back and shoot me

there are a lot of ghilan’nain creature designs that didn’t make it into the game which is a shame but i can see why they would have been resource heavy

the antiva concept arts are so gorgeous. a lot of it got through! and definitely the overall Vibe made it. at some point it seems to have been antiva city itself; they don’t call it treviso and they mention the circle of magi as a major landmark

“The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven.” <- this just rules as a line

for arlathan: “To differentiate it from previous forest and jungle locations in Dragon Age, we went with an autumnal colour palette. It has the benefit to feeling ominously like the end.”

the veil jumpers have a “skull halla” symbol that “implies their willingness to risk death”. did that end up in the game?

“With each faction, we explored a range of aspirational fantasies. For the Wardens, this ranged from knights in shining armour to butal tanks to a Nietzche quote: ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.’”

there’s this concept among the warden armours for an insane orlesian noblewoman look with the winter palace morrigan corset and a piled high wig, but the skirts torn knee length and a serrated fan in hand. i’m kind of obsessed

“To bring more life to the world, we thought about what industries would keep the Anderfels afloat. We took the prominent Warden blue colour and envisioned an industry harvesting flowers, creating dye, and then weaving copious amounts of blue fabric.” this is probably where the flower quests in the hossberg wetlands started off conceptually? v cute

character stuff:

in completely different early versions of the game, solas had a “bad cop” right hand woman called reva

imshael the desire demon/choice spirit from the masked empire and inquisition was going to be a two-handed weapon warrior companion, and also sexualised now while in largely feminine form, which would have been a Choice. there is one art of him in masculine form, also sexy but still not showing as much skin as the feminine one

as i said, neve was going to be calpernia

taash was a rogue. (they’re still a light-armoured dual wielder so that checks out.) it seems like davrin was briefly a mage. at some points harding seems to have inherited bianca

saarbrak, another qunari companion, seems to have lastest the longest of the abandoned concepts. he’s the only non-canon one who got as far as having a place for him sketched into designs of the lighthouse: “saarbrak’s planning room”. mentions and sightings of what might be him are sporadic and i think you only see his name on that sketch, but i’m connecting it to the description “a potential qunari companion evolved from saarebas to dapper qunari spy, offering a deeper look into qunari culture”

the embroidery on harding’s clothes is how she passes the time while “waiting for days in a sniper perch” on missions. i just thought that was cute

[kedreeva]

You kill your birds? I thought you loved animals...

I do love animals. I breed quail for meat and eggs, and that means that yes, I kill some of my birds, just as I kill some of my mice who are unsuitable for pet homes or unnecessary for breeding, just as I have sent overtly aggressive peafowl that would be dangerous to other birds or humans home with someone to be dinner.

Loving animals and understanding meat source animals must be killed to be eaten and that domesticated husbandry requires some amount of hard culling for the benefit of the breeding program and species as a whole are not mutually exclusive ideas. It is my job to give my animals good, proper care, enrichment, and love until their time in this world is over (for some that's sooner than others), to ensure that death is as humane as possible, and to ensure that as little as possible goes to waste after.

And almost nothing here does go to waste; offal or unusable parts goes to the crows and other scavengers I feed at the front of the house (and in turn they chase off nosy hawks and eagles), meat gets eaten, bones get used to make stock and then composted for the garden. Mouse culls and quail feeder culls (quail hatched specifically to be feeders for other animals) almost all go to reptile owners who want ethically sourced animals kept in better conditions/fed better feed (the exception is when Bug eats some of them instead). And the two times I have ever had to cull aggressive peafowl, they both went to a hunting family that made use of the meat.

Additionally, on several occasions now, I have been called upon by others to help euthanize their fowl friends. Strangers who couldn't afford a vet bill but wanted to put an end to their bird's suffering. Strangers that knew it needed to be done but couldn't do it themselves, or that didn't know how. I have taught others how to do cervical dislocation in case the need arrives ever again, so the bird doesn't have to wait. I have held sobbing owners who thanked me for being able to do what they couldn't even when they knew it was necessary. And yes, I have demonstrated the butchering process to folks who want quail meat, so that I know they're giving a quick, humane end to their birds.

Death is a part of life. When you raise purpose animals, death is going to be a part of the deal at some point.

It doesn't mean I love them any less while they're here, or in general.

[silverovaskitchen]

MADE: 17 JUL 2022

A reblog from my main blog, cause I'm still pretty damn proud of what I did there. Actual recipe and pictures under the cut, if you have no time for the opening blurb.

Салат « Янус » (The Janus Salad)

(Or: a Russian Englishman’s twist on the Romanov-era Olivier Salad)

007 Fest 2022, Scavenger Hunt item no. 52: “Design a meal or dish of food representing a Bond character. Explain your logic.”

In the days when Janus used to travel all around Russia in his personal armoured train, the question of food always was a critical one. Of course, the on-board kitchen was well-stocked with quality tins, but one did not simply live on a diet of tinned food—especially when one was the immensely rich Janus.

Therefore, some of the Janus Syndicate’s enforcers were specially assigned to catering. They ordered dishes to the greatest chefs in all of Saint Petersburg and brought them back to base (not unlike a private Uber Eats…); they did the grocery shopping at the historical Gostiniy Dvor department store; they even procured rare and/or exotic ingredients from abroad. None of them complained—as long as they weren’t caught red-handed nabbing some of this exceptional food, the job certainly had its advantages.

Janus, as for him, didn’t complain either. As much as he despised his old friend James in those days, he had very much adopted the latter’s love for good, expensive cuisine for himself. While the local restaurateurs never saw him in person, he paid them so generously they came to look forward to the tough-looking henchman’s next visit. There were worse arrangements, especially in 1990s Russia.

What Janus also loved was history—above all else, Romanov history. In another life, he would have certainly been the dashing Count Vronskiy in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Or, at the very least, a young, ambitious Don Cossack officer, relentlessly gaining power in the tsar’s court through intrigue and connections. But alas, he was born a century too late for that to ever happen. His consolation was to devour all the books he could find on the subject… and infiltrating the young Russian Federation’s politics to steer them away from Communism as much as he could.

It was while reading one of his history books that one day, Janus stumbled upon the story of Belgian chef Lucien Olivier and of his most famous creation—Olivier salad. Like every Russian, Janus knew the Soviet, cheapened-down variation of it, also known as Russian potato salad. He was very surprised to find out that the original was, in fact, very posh. Depending on the versions, it could include such ingredients as hazel grouse, crayfish tails, or even black caviar.

Intrigued, Janus kept searching about this historical salad. Chef Olivier had clung jealously to his recipe all the way to the grave, but fortunately some of his contemporaries had noted down their best approximations. The oldest possible source Janus could find was an 1894 article from the long-defunct magazine ‘Our Food’. For what he had in mind, it was a very good base.

So, one day, he summoned one of his caterers and asked for the recipe to be recreated, albeit with a few alterations of his own. The original recipe was forever lost after all, so no need for complete authenticity. Instead of hazel grouse, he wanted partridge—a very acceptable replacement, according to the 1894 article. If he did live the Cossack life, he’d probably have hunted it himself… but the truth was, partridge had been his favourite game meat ever since James made him try some.

Instead of crayfish, he wanted the sweeter, softer scampi. How English of him, one might say. Instead of meat jelly, he wanted the most buttery, decadent beluga caviar—hopefully not from Valentin Zukovsky's Azerbaijani farm, though. He wanted quail eggs, too. And for a slightly dark, smoked edge, he wanted French duck magret. Again, James’ influence on him might be stronger than he’d ever admit…

Lastly, there was the question of the most mysterious ingredient of them all—what the article called ‘Kabul’ sauce. Back in the day, it was a condiment made by the British firm Crosse & Blackwell, but it unsurprisingly had been discontinued eons prior. The replacement, Janus decided, would be a mixture of good old Worcestershire sauce and soy sauce. Russia had borders with China, Korea and Japan after all. Slightly spicy, with a umami kick to it… that resembled enough the descriptions he read.

The henchman finished noting this down, nodded, and went. Shortly before dinner time, he came back to the train with the customary bliny with sour cream and caviar… as well as this.

‘Delicious’, Janus thought at the first bite. ‘Well worthy of a tsar… I could call it the Janus salad.’

INGREDIENTS

(DISCLAIMER: the author broke the piggy bank for some of these ingredients because she made this dish for her 26th birthday. Do not feel obliged to do the same—that being said, scouring places such as Petrossian or La Grande Épicerie de Paris (a French equivalent to Harrod’s) was very fun.)

Salad (makes 3-4 servings):

2 roasted partridges (can be replaced with roasted chicken)

8 (+1, see decoration) quail eggs (can be replaced with chicken eggs)

5-6 waxy new potatoes (if you’re Janus, you’ll probably want Jersey Royals. If you’re a French frog like the author, Noirmoutiers are an excellent replacement.)

70g smoked duck magret (omit if you don’t have access to it)

Half an English cucumber

1 tbsp capers

10 black olives

Meat from the scampi claws

Scampi broth (if raw scampi are used):

Parsley

Tarragon

Dill

2 bay leaves

1 onion, quartered

1 carrot, chopped

Jamaican pepper (Bond would approve)

Coarse salt

Provençal sauce:

1 egg yolk

1 tsp Dijon mustard

2 tsp vinegar

olive oil (or olive oil + a neutral tasting oil—olive oil has a strong taste)

black pepper

garlic powder

2 tsp Worcestershire sauce

2-3 tsp soy sauce

For the decoration of 1 serving:

2 scampi (aka. langoustines)

1 lettuce leaf

The spare quail egg, halved

Chives

Black caviar (if you’ve got Janus’ unlimited funds, beluga is a must—since the author hasn’t, she used osetra instead. A good, much cheaper replacement with a similar taste would be trout roe... except it isn't as dark as Alec's soul 😆)

DIRECTIONS

Roast the partridge (or chicken) and let it cool down

Boil the potatoes and let them cool down

Boil the quail eggs for 3 minutes and let them cool down (8 minutes for chicken eggs)

Make the scampi broth. When it boils, add the raw scampi and cook for 8 minutes starting  from when the broth boils again. Remove the pot from the stove and put it in a cold water bath. Leave the pot to cool down, so that the scampi are infused with the broth.

Remove the bones from the partridge/chicken, then chop it up into small pieces along with the potatoes, cucumber, magret, eggs and meat from the scampi claws. Add capers and sliced olives

Make the Provençal sauce. Mix the egg yolk and mustard then slowly add oil while whisking, until texture is firm (an electric hand mixer helps). Add the other ingredients and mix well.

Add two generous tablespoons of Provençal sauce to the salad, then gently mix it all up.

To serve, ideally use a ring mold. Decorate the molded salad with the scampi, egg, lettuce leaf, caviar and chives.

Serve very cold. The 1894 recipe says that it should be ideally done in ‘a crystal vase, like fruit macédoine’.

Приятного аппетита! (Bon appétit!)

SOURCES:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olivier_salad (good overview)

https://liveuser.livejournal.com/77282.html (the 1894 recipe, in Russian)

https://stale.ru/en/different/olive-s-rakovymi-sheikami-gotovim-originalnye-salaty-olive-s/ (different variations of the original recipe with more complete instructions, Google (?) translated from Russian)

BONUS PICTURES:

Mmm roasted partridge

A good view on that caviar (I certainly am not going to get more any time soon, so gotta show off 😁). Also, six bliny of course.

Little birthday dessert in the same spirit:

Georgian black tea with lemon

Chocolate, lemon, raspberry and mango macarons

‘Cigarettes russes’ (Russian cigarettes), which are Belgian rolled biscuits

Raisin and lemon Scottish shortbread

Apple and honey ‘tulskiy pryanik’, a sort of gingerbread from Tula, Russia

PS: did you spot the three Sean Bean non-Alec Easter eggs in the opening blurb? 👀

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 8

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven.

Eight. 八

After that encounter in the screening room, you are extra vigilant as you go about your days, to not get caught in a room alone with Donaka Mark. It's not that you think he will hurt you...just that you don't think you would have the strength to resist him again. But a few days later the staff is in a flurry getting ready for a dinner party to entertain some of Mr. Mark's clients and friends, and you don't have time to think about it at all.

Later, you have been conscripted to help in the kitchen. You dare ask the cook, Mrs. Wong, what tou zai yee means. She is busy prepping food, so she impatiently answers, “Rabbit. Little cute rabbit. Wash these.” She shoves a bushel of bok choy at you, and you get to work. Maybe you defy Donaka Mark on the reg, but Mrs. Wong? You aren’t crazy. 

You help the kitchen staff with serving for the party. The guests are all well heeled and glamorous, which is to be expected. But there is one woman who clearly has her sights set on Mark, laughing at his jokes and finding any and every reason to touch him, placing her manicured hand bedecked in a ruby the size of a quail's egg on his arm--who you cannot help but feel utterly spiteful towards. You keep your eyes down, praying Mr. Mark won't see it on your face.

Donaka enjoys the bustle of the party, his staff scurrying around like minions to wait on him and his guests. It makes him feel powerful, but the greatest satisfaction comes from watching you, watching her fawn over him.

She is absolutely gorgeous, undoubtedly rich, and you feel...stupid, and small as a little mouse. Donaka seems to be enjoying her attentions, and you wonder if she will stay, after all the other guests have gone. Of course he would seek the company of a woman more his equal. All you could ever be to him is a plaything to pass the time in between more glamorous assignations.

Donaka eats it up as the beautiful woman continues to touch his arm, continues to laugh and throw herself at him, clearly desperate to be close to him. His eyes dart over to where you are standing on the other side of the room, watching him between offering drinks to his guests on a tray. He decides to teach you a lesson.

You know its ridiculous, but you are green with envy, as Donaka ducks to say something in her ear, and the two of them disappear from the room. Going to the garden, maybe, or his office. Or even...his bedroom. The thought of it makes you physically ill...and knowing that you’ll have to change the sheets, tomorrow...Goddammit. You have to leave the room to compose yourself, finding that you are trying not to cry.

Donaka walks out of the room, his hand holding onto the woman’s slender arm, her laughing and giggling at his side. He leads her down the hall, not paying attention to the way she keeps talking, her hand touching his arm, her body practically pressed against his. You never see where they go. You stay in the kitchen the rest of the night, helping to clean up the mess.

It's late when everyone has finally left. You are the last one in the living room, tidying everything, cleaning up some broken glass hiding under a chair from one of the guests.

Donaka silently joins you, standing in the doorway of the sitting room when the guests are all finally gone, watching you pick up glass from a broken champagne flute, admiring your skirt riding up your thighs as you crawl on the floor. When you finally stand you gasp to find his towering dark figure there. You’d thought that he'd retired, possibly with that beautiful woman he'd had on his arm. The thought of her makes you stew inside all over again.

“You did a good job tonight,” he says, his voice low as he steps into the room.

"Thank you, sir. I think...your party was a success." Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves immensely at his expense.

Donaka hums softly at your words, closing the space between the two of you until he’s towering over you. “Mmm, yes,” he says. “Everyone had a good time. Especially me.”

The bastard just can’t restrain himself from rubbing it in. 

You exhale through your nose, practically squirming with the effort to remain professional. "I'm glad, sir." He certainly enjoyed himself with that woman. Your hand clenches involuntarily–on the broken glass you’d been cradling so carefully before. You yelp at the pain, the shard stuck in your palm, blood bright as cinnabar welling forth. "Shit," you curse, dashing for the kitchen before you can drip on his expensive silk rugs.

The kitchen is deserted as you go to the sink. The razor-sharp shard is really embedded in the meat of your palm, and you feel light headed just looking at it. You fucking little idiot, you admonish yourself. Well, you hope Donaka enjoys the reaction he got out of you. You wish you were better at shutting down your emotions. It’s a skill you could really use about now. Tears well in your eyes, and your injury is only half to blame. 

“Let me see.” His deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, and you shake your head. His help is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m fine, Sir,” you say through gritted teeth. “Please don’t bother yourself.” 

But then the solid line of his warmth is behind you, so close, and he reaches around your smaller form with those long arms, taking charge of your injured hand in his. He clicks his tongue at the sight of it. 

Your first instinct is to shy away, but he pins you against the cabinetry with a low, warning growl. “Be still,” he commands, and for once, you obey, every cell in your body aware of this man pressed against your back. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breathing shallow, and not just because of his weight pressing into you. 

Maybe you will pass out. That would serve him right.

“If you’re squeamish, don’t look,” he instructs, and before you can say a thing he’s plucked the glass from your skin, and replaced it with a dish towel, holding pressure on your wound.  "You should be more careful."

You clench your jaw, biting down on your first, second, and third scathing replies. 

A good thirty seconds pass, before you’re able to offer the appropriate, “Yes, Sir.” 

For once, this meek reply does not please Donaka. 

He bends down to speak softly in your ear. “You think I fucked her?”

Furious, you struggle again, to absolutely no avail. His hips and muscular thighs brace you into the edge of the sink, his arms are around you and his hands are holding yours–you’re the one who’s fucked, and not in any nice way. 

“Answer me.” 

You’re pretty sure he can hear you grinding your teeth. 

“Yes,” you admit, sounding as small and miserable as you feel inside. 

“Why would you care, if all you do is run from me?”

Therein lies the million dollar question. You realize tears are rolling down your cheeks when you feel the moisture dripping from your chin. 

“Because I’m an idiot,” you answer, your throat suddenly raw. 

“I know you’re not stupid. Try again.” 

“You’re being cruel,” you protest, praying that somewhere, deep down, this man might possess a modicum of compassion for you. 

“I am seeking the truth, y/n. What more noble pursuit is there in life?”

You laugh, a ragged outburst of sound. You can’t tell if he’s being serious, or his usual sardonic self. Either way, it’s a spring trap set for you with big sharp teeth. 

“I think you pursue truth for the power in it, Mr. Mark. That’s hardly noble.”

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. How right you were. The security business paid well, but he made his first real fortune plying secrets gleaned from all his cameras watching the wealthy. Some of those secrets were worth more when kept,  and some, worth more sold. 

 “Touché. Fine. We’ll trade. I’ll tell you that I would sooner go to bed with a viper, than that woman tonight.” 

You are not proud of the way you relax in his hold, even if minutely, at hearing that unexpected confession.  “This is none of my business, Sir,” you try to evade.

“Nice try. Now you tell me why that information pleases you.”

“I need to bandage my hand.”

Goddammit if the first aid kit isn’t easily in reach for him. He doesn’t even have to let go of you, to take it down from the overhead cabinet and flip open the lid, carefully removing the towel to administer to your wound with an alcohol wipe and a bandage, all while still trapping you in the circle of his arms. “I’m still waiting,” he tells you, as he wraps your palm with gauze neatly. 

“I think you’ve done this before,” you deflect, floundering for anything else to talk about. 

“A few times.” 

“I guess it’s not a party until someone bleeds…” 

This earns you a huff of laughter. “You have no idea…” 

You’re not sure why his answer unsettles you. When he fastens the end of your gauze you feel a little like a mummy. This was probably overkill, but you were glad for the distraction. You fear the interim is over, when his big hand moves to hold the front of your throat, ever so lightly. It’s possessive, and titillating, and not half so off-putting as it should be. 

“Y/n?” 

“Sir.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

With the solid, scalding line of his body pressed against your back, you can feel his heartbeat drumming against your spine, and the bulge of his arousal against you too. It’s all so maddening that you think you might have slid to the floor on your weak knees, if not for him pinning you. You’re going to have an indent in your skin from the edge of the sink biting into your flesh. Your silence stretches on, your body trembling in his arms. You’re not sure you could form a word, even if you knew what to say. 

You have no idea how to quantify your feelings for Donaka Mark. He scares you and fascinates you. He’s so handsome it hurts, but even so, if that had been the sum total of your attraction you could have gotten over it. It’s the way he looks at you, speaks to you–challenges you. Your libido votes to climb him like a tree and fuck him, your higher brain functions insist it’s not worth the price of your soul. As much if not more than your body, this man craves your complete submission. You sense it like a coming storm.

“I’d prefer you to let go of me.”

Again, you feel him growl behind you more than hear it. 

Maybe it's the alcohol he consumed that evening, or the sight of the blood, the act of caring for you. His control is paper thin tonight, and he just can't stop himself from shifting his hold to your jaw, tilting your head up to him, and pressing his mouth to yours.

You always thought a kiss from Donaka Mark would be a soul-searing act of domination–something that bordered on pain. Brutal tongue and clashing teeth and those long fingers tangled in your hair–you can hardly believe it, when this powerful man is actually considerate of you, big hands that could snap your neck holding you with care, his plush lips and his clever tongue sliding against yours. He is not exactly gentle, releasing you only so that he can turn your body in his arms, pressing your front to his. He takes what he wants, and does not apologize for it 

Yet you also feel he is asking you a question with this kiss, and even though you have turned to jelly in his capable hands, your answer is still this: that you are a coward, and maybe a cynic too. 

You cannot believe that Donaka Mark could truly be so caring. It is the enticing glow of the angler fish’s lure, so pretty and soft–beyond lays a monster with teeth waiting to devour you. 

You’ve never wanted to chance it so badly in your life, but in the end self-preservation wins again. 

He actually lets you slide from his grasp, until the last part of you that is touching is your seeking mouths. You hold your hands behind your back, so that you do not reach out for him, the way you really want to.  

You draw back to look up at him, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are truly the jet black of a shark’s. This is the reality of your situation: he is the king of the reef–you are naught but a tasty little angelfish. You are not clever enough, fast enough, mean enough to play with the likes of this man. He would eat you alive. 

Wide eyed, it’s all you can do to shake your head, your words caught in your throat until you’ve backed away a few steps. “I’m sorry…I can’t.” Donaka watches you disbelievingly, as you flee him, yet again, on those quick little feet. 

With a fist clenched at his side, he decides this will be the last time. A seething storm roils within him, and you have no idea the beast you have unleashed in rejecting him, when Donaka Mark offered you tenderness over an iron fist. 

You are going to be sorry.